A grin spreads across my face, and I dip my chin, too overwhelmed to speak. Instead, I turn, my heart pounding with anticipation as I step into the airport before I board the plane bound for Germany.
Now, I can only hope my early return is enough to fix things with Colt.
Especially after the way I left.
And the way he never answered my calls.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’ve called Colt multiple times.
But he’s still not answering.
Dammit.
My pulse quickens as the cab speeds toward the Rutherford Regent Hotel in Berlin.Did I screw this up by leaving the way I did?I press my phone to my chest, willing it to ring, but nothing. The closer I get, the more anxious I feel.
It’s nearly one in the morning. There’s a good chance the after-party is still raging in the penthouse suite. Either that, or they’re still at some club, lost in the high of post-show adrenaline. But I’m not wasting time searching. I’m heading straight to the hotel.
I need to see Colt.
I need to apologize for being a brat.
When the cab pulls up to the curb, I pay the fare with shaky hands. The moment I step out, the crisp morning air cools my overheated skin. I inhale deeply, but it does little to settle the knot in my stomach.
Colt not answering my calls has me on edge.
What if he doesn’t want to see me?
What if I have ruined everything?
The driver sets my luggage beside me, and I grip the handle tightly, forcing myself forward. I don’t have a key card for the penthouse, so I’m banking on someone being there to let me in. Otherwise, I’ll be stranded in the hallway, waiting and hoping.
As I approach the suite, the thumping bass of music bleeds through the door, vibrating beneath my feet. My heart pounds harder—part nerves, part excitement. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve missed Colt more than I thought possible. A smiletugs at my lips as I picture his strong arms pulling me close, his lips grazing my neck, his warm breath against my skin.
God, I love him.
Shaking off the daydream, I raise my fist and knock.
Nothing.
I knock again, louder this time, straining to be heard over the music. A few agonizing moments pass before muffled laughter drifts through the door. Then, finally, it swings open.
Anna.
She blinks at me, her expression unreadable—annoyance flickering across her face before she angles the door, blocking my view inside.
I arch a brow, offering a slight grin. “Anna, are you drunk?” I tease, trying to slip past her.
She doesn’t move. Instead, a flicker of something else, something sharp and uneasy, crosses her face.
Then I see it.
Fear.
A chill runs through me, my stomach twisting as my pulse spikes.
Oh fuck!Something’s wrong.
